


Hollywood & Vine

by dreamsofdramione, msmerlin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Actor Draco, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Awkward Cute, Bookstore manager Hermione, Brits in LA, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hollywood, Hollywood Heartthrob Draco, Los Angeles, Occult Bookstore, Romantic Comedy, Slow-ish burn, will they? wont they?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:22:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27057910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofdramione/pseuds/dreamsofdramione, https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmerlin/pseuds/msmerlin
Summary: As the manager of an occult bookstore currently renting a room from an old friend and living paycheck to paycheck, Hermione wasn’t exactly living the Hollywood dream. But her life is turned upside down when a chance encounter with Tinseltown’s current heartthrob, Draco Malfoy, leaves her questioning everything she thought she knew about life and love.or the one in which Hermione unintentionally falls in love with a movie star.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 50
Kudos: 234
Collections: Dramione RomCom Fest





	1. hollywood & vine

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DramioneRomComFest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DramioneRomComFest) collection. 
  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DramioneRomComFest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DramioneRomComFest) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Notting Hill (1999) - claimed by dreamsofdramione & msmerlin

If someone had told Hermione that she'd be living in Los Angeles by the age of twenty eight, she would have thought them insane, but add in her managing an occult bookstore owned by her eccentric college roommate and—well, _that_ she absolutely would not have believed.

She would have told them they were as mad as a hatter.

Then she would have laughed.

Yet here she stood at one o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon, unboxing the latest shipment from their supplier.

"Bitchcraft?" She examined the cobalt cover with mild amusement. After managing the shop for one year, she'd wrongfully assumed there was little that could still surprise her. This book, though, was a change of pace from what they typically ordered.

The shelves in the tiny little cornershop were positively brimming with what was considered to be more reputable—albeit dated—material. _Wiccan Beginner's Spellbooks, The Art to Unlocking Your Inner Eye, The Satanic Bible_ , and of course, her personal favorite, _Runes for Dummies_. Sprinkled amongst the stacks were crystals, patchouli incense, and sage smudge bundles, nestled in their residences beside the plastic skulls and pentacle place mats.

This little store was a one-stop shop for all of Hollywood and the surrounding communities' occult needs, and because of her, it was finally turning a profit. Thanks in large part to her ability to tighten the reins on Luna's habit of ordering obscure titles, she was turning the focus to the tried and true things that were guaranteed to sell—though, clearly, her boss/roommate was able to slip _this_ in the order.

Hermione leaned against the wooden stool, hip digging into the seat as she flipped open the book, trying to assess which section she'd shelve this particular title in—and more importantly, how the bloody hell she was going to market it on their newly revamped social media sites.

The distinct chime from the front door sung through the tiny store, but she didn't bother to look up from her examination as the standard greeting rolled off her tongue.

"Unholy blessings, and welcome to Curses, Unicorns, Nargles & Things."

It was a mouthful, but by the time she'd joined the venture, all of the branding had been selected so she'd done her best to make it work.

In her periphery, she could make out a figure dressed in black just as a hurried greeting floated her way. This was hardly an anomaly; with the shop being located on Hollywood and Vine, they often got tourists popping in to window shop while they made their way down the star-studded sidewalk.

But it was the way this stranger moved through the shop with a sense of purpose that seemed odd. Most people would peruse the shelves or stop to check out the eclectic knick knacks—maybe even pull a title from the shelves.

Not this person.

No, they made a beeline for the back of the shop.

Frowning, Hermione set the book back in the box on the counter and turned to follow the strange patron. Before she could even work her way around the counter, however, the telltale tinkle of the shop bell pulled her attention back to the front of the store. Odd. They typically only had one person in the store at once, so two was practically unheard of.

"Unholy blessings, and welcome to—"

"Did someone just come in here?" The woman was barely a foot inside the store, her too-high heels practically glued to the old, marked wooden floorboards as though if she took another step inside, the air of the occult might taint the contents of her Starbucks cup. When Hermione didn't immediately answer, her razor-sharp gaze turned into a glare. "Hello? Did you hear me? Did anyone come in here just before me?"

"Uh—" With a subtle glance at the dome mirror situated just above the door, Hermione caught the brim of a black cap disappearing behind a shelf. _Interesting._ "Nope. Sorry. It's just me." A well rehearsed customer-service smile curved all the way across Hermione's lips. She knew this woman's type. Born into money, never had to work a day in her life, and in a place like this? Well, this brunette was more out of her element than Hermione would have been in Bloomingdale's. "Is there something I can help you with? We just received a new product that might interest you."

The ice queen bristled, as if the mere idea of Hermione showing her anything was offensive. Shifting her weight between her heels, her painted lips pulled back in a sharp sneer. "I highly doubt I would find a _single_ thing in this store interesting." Though her hair was short, cropped in a well-maintained bob, she flipped the smooth strands over her shoulder and pulled her oversized sunglasses down to sit on the bridge of her nose. Even without the visual of her piercing gaze, Hermione could still feel it. She tapped a painted nail on the thick cat-eye frame impatiently. "You're absolutely sure no one came in?"

"Positive."

"Not even—"

"Not a soul." If Hermione widened her smile any more, she was certain her molars would show. Clearly whoever ducked into the shop was wanting to avoid this Lilith-esque pre-Madonna, and frankly, Hermione didn't blame the poor soul for avoiding her. She was halfway debating running as soon as a window opened.

"Well then—" The sharp click of a heel punctuated her turn as she walked right back out the door.

Hermione waited a few minutes until the tinkling of the bell was nothing more than a whisper before she resumed her previously set course to the back of the store.

"She's gone, you know." Something rustled a few aisles back. Hermione busied herself with straightening a second copy of Demon Possession, letting her eyes linger just above the shelf so she could see the movement in her periphery. "That woman—whoever she was—she's gone now. You don't have to hide anymore."

"Who says I was hiding?"

Hermione jumped. The voice was no more than a few paces behind her. _How had he done that?_

When her eyes finally landed on the mystery man, she nearly laughed. She was used to seeing many obscure things working in Hollywood. Men in lingerie, people in various superhero costumes, and the occasion trench coat streaker. But this? This was almost comical. "Well, I believe the oversized dark glasses and the black nondescript hat certainly say you want to be seen then? Combine that with ducking into deserted stores and sliding behind shelves, and it's all rather obvious."

The smile that tilted his lips to reveal perfectly aligned teeth made Hermione bite hers.

Even without a full view of his face, she could tell he was handsome in that Hollywood sort of way. Walking down the street, it was easier to spot those who weren't in showbiz, wanted to be, or thought their big break was just around the corner. In a town where people had more plastic in their bodies than their wallets, attractiveness was low on the list of priorities for someone as practical as Hermione Granger.

She shook her head and cleared her throat. "Were you looking for anything beyond a space to hide out?"

He made a show of looking around, and lifted a hand from his front pocket to finger the row of books. His lazy perusal of the shelves was almost comical. She didn't have to know anything about him to know that her shop wouldn't contain anything of interest for him. Curses, Unicorns, Nargles & Things had a rather specific clientele, and unreasonably handsome blond men were absolutely not on the list. "Just browsing. Looking for gifts for my goddaughter."

"Oh?" She cocked a brow, watching with growing amusement as he pulled a book down from the shelf. "How old is she?"

He weighed the book in his hand, fingers dancing across the seemingly innocent leather bound cover. "Six."

Hermione nodded, lips pressing together to suppress the urge to burst into laughter. She slipped her hands into the back pocket of her jeans, elbows splaying wide. "Ahh… seems a tad young to summon demons, but what do I know?"

He blanched, hands fumbling with the text as if it was on fire. It fell to the floor with a loud _thwack._

"Well, if you need any suggestions on age-appropriate gifts, I'll be behind the counter."

Her sneakers squeaked on the wooden floor as she spun around, not bothering to attempt to pick up the book as she moved back to the register. It was highly unlikely anyone else would pop in, but she had to at least pretend to watch the front of the shop.

Slipping behind the counter, she grabbed a bright red paper cup from beside the register and took a drink. Her coffee was lukewarm and a tad too acidic, but she couldn't expect much from 7-Eleven. The price was well within her budget, and she could grab it on the way into work.

Though she was already mentally making plans to stop by Mad Lab before heading home. While a $4 coffee wasn't always an economically sound decision, she would happily give up lunch for a properly brewed cup of coffee.

"So, what _would_ you recommend… for my goddaughter?"

Hermione turned slowly, lips still wrapped around the plastic lid, and had she been less of a caffeine addict, she might have spit out her drink.

The mystery man stood in line with the first shelf, casually leaning against the barely upright bookcase as if he owned the bloody place. Dark glasses dangled from the front of his shirt, and she could properly make out his face.

He wasn't just handsome, he was _bloody fit!_

Like a modern-day Adonis. Clearly her previous assessment of the Hollywood type was totally off base because he wasn't some wannabe actor/model/barista working his way through Tinseltown.

 _No_.

He was _far better_ looking than any of those hulking meat heads.

She gulped her coffee, wincing as the too large sip crept down her throat. "Honestly?"

"Yeah." He shrugged, taking one small step closer after a quick survey of the front, as if checking to make sure the coast was clear.

"Absolutely nothing in here." Hermione set her cup down, chipped nail tapping on the lid.

He laughed—the genuine sort of belly laugh that she rarely heard from people who claimed the City of Angels as their home-base. He wasn't from here, the accent that matched her own made that obvious, but he also couldn't have been a transplant—not if he still laughed like that.

"You're shit at your job, aren't you?"

Hermione blinked, and her tapping nail scratched to a halt. "Excuse me?" Well, that was rude. Sure he was handsome, but that didn't mean he could pass judgement on her work ethic. "I'm not sure you're qualified to make that statement."

"Considering you just told me I couldn't find a gift in here, I would say I am."

Her tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek, eyes narrowing on him as he drew closer. "By all means, pick something out. Far be it from me to stop you from giving your goddaughter a spell book. Or perhaps she'd be more interested in crystals. Oh! Better yet, how about we just build a small kit. A starter demonology set. I'm sure her parents would be thrilled to help her practice the Dark Arts at such an impressionable age."

He paused before her, only the narrow counter separating them. Seeing him up close might have been worse than from afar. From this distance, she could make out his sharp jawline, perfectly shaped nose, and his eyes— _holy shit_ , she didn't even know it was possible for people to possess eyes that color. Grey? No, not grey. Silver, like rain clouds ready to burst.

"You're wrong. She'll absolutely love…" His eyes dropped to the little knick knacks that cluttered the counter. Point-of-purchase merchandise. She'd fought Luna tooth and nail to order the various trinkets. The woman said she didn't want the bookstore to become too nichey. Hermione wanted to pay the bloody mortgage each month without tapping into the woman's trust fund. "Ah, this."

He grabbed a small black plush from the wire basket to his left and set it on the counter.

Hermione rubbed her mouth, a single arm crossed over her chest as she glanced at the red-eyed demon stuffie. Good lord. This man was… delusional. She really should just take his money and send him on his way.

Call it a random act of kindness—or maybe a bit of self-service, because this would allow her to admire him for a bit longer—but she was going to humour him and actually help.

"Okay, look. If you want a plush, I _might_ have something that'll work in the back because there is absolutely no way I am selling you that baphomet stuffed animal for a six-year-old." Hermione didn't think she'd ever seen a million-watt smile offscreen before, but when he flashed her a full grin, she had to tear her eyes away. "Give me just a minute."

* * *

In the end, he'd settled on two different plushies: a small, purple tentacle-kitten and a plague doctor. It was hardly conventional, and truthfully she felt sort of bad so when he wasn't looking, she might have slipped a blank journal and some colored pencils in the bag too. At the very least, the kid could draw in the thing, right? Kids liked to draw.

After the sale, she expected him to leave, as per the usual method of transaction based interactions, but he hung around. He claimed to be new to the area (ding ding ding!) and wanted some advice on local hot spots.

She stood behind the counter, arms crossed over her bust as she leaned on the stack of boxes she had yet to unpack. "The tar pits? Come on, you have to be joking."

"I heard they were interesting." The man casually swung the plastic bag off his crooked finger. "Who doesn't want to see dinosaurs?"

"You _are_ aware there aren't dinosaur bones there, right?"

He paused and tilted his head. "Wait, really?"

Hermione nodded, brows lifting. "Yeah. Just mammoths, buffalo, and—"

It was that exact moment that the jingle from the front door's bell rang out. While she was going to enjoy crushing his evident dreams of seeing dinosaur bones—poor thing—it was going to have to wait. She'd already wasted an hour chatting with him, and if someone was in the store to spend money, she _would_ have to work.

She greeted the newest patron, a young woman that looked no older than sixteen; maybe eighteen but the shiny metal braces glued to her teeth said otherwise.

The redhead didn't even give Hermione a passing glance; she was zeroed in on something—or rather, someone. The teen made a beeline for the nameless mystery man, practically bubbling with excitement as she approached.

The blond was fumbling, trying desperately to pull his dark sunglasses from his collar. He was already backing up to disappear down an aisle—which seemed more and more suspicious with each second that passed. He'd slipped into this shop to hide from his bloody girlfriend; why on earth—

"Excuse me?" The redhead bounced on the balls of her feet, voice tinkling like the bell that had signaled her entry to the store. "Can I—can I have a picture?"

The blond paused, gray eyes flickering between the teen and her. "Ehh." He cleared his throat. Just as quickly as his hesitation had appeared, it vanished, and that million-watt smile fell into place as a facade settled in. "Of course."

The teen hit an octave that made Hermione jump, and goosebumps erupted down her arms. Jesus Christ, she knew teenagers were a bit much, but surely that level of enthusiasm over a handsome man was totally unnecessary.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" the teen squealed as she withdrew her mobile from her pocket and rushed to his side. "My friends are going to be _so jealous!"_

Jealous?

"We just love your movies—"

All at once it hit her. How she hadn't connected the pieces before was almost baffling. How many men with hair that blond, eyes that beautiful and teeth that perfect really lived in L.A.? Of course, he seemed too good for those wannabe actors who littered the streets.

He was _already_ an actor.

And a bloody famous one at that.

Draco fucking Malfoy. Childhood actor turned Hollywood heartthrob. He was literally on half the billboards in the city, be it for his cologne advertisements or movie posters.

Granted, the only films of his she had seen were several years old, back when he was a kid, but his looks hadn't changed enough to warrant her naivety.

"Sorry about that." His soothing voice cut through her reverie, and Hermione looked up to find the once mystery man, now celebrity rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks were tinted pink with just the hint of a blush. "Hazard of my job, I'm afraid."

Pushing off the wall, Hermione leaned forward to snatch her nearly empty coffee cup and took a quick sip. "Whatever." Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug, and she watched the teen hurry out of the shop, thumbs already rapidly typing out a message. "You'll probably want to take off though. I'd wager to guess she's going to tag the shop on whatever social media she's posting to."

Draco nodded, and though Hermione couldn't be certain, she could have sworn his eyes dimmed for a moment.

"Oh… yeah. Of course, right." Draco's hand dropped at his side, and his lips curled in a half smile. He stood there for a bit, grey eyes glued to her as if she were the most interesting thing in the room. While most women would dream of this undivided attention from a man like him, Hermione felt a steady uptick in her own anxiety.

What did he want?

Did she have something on her face?

Just as she was about to turn away so she could swipe any leftover mascara from under her eyes away from his watchful eye, he took a step towards the register with a renewed confidence.

"Are you busy later?" The question felt casual, as if they were old friends as opposed to complete strangers.

Hermione shifted, tension rippling down her spine, defense mechanisms that she'd built over the past couple of years rearing their vicious heads. "I've got a hot date with a bubble bath and a pot of coffee. So… yes?"

"I have this thing to go to tonight." He lifted his bag and set it next to the register before retrieving a pen from the mug beside the till. "You should come with me."

She furrowed her brow, unable to prevent her blatant skepticism. "I should?" It wasn't that she didn't trust him—okay, well maybe a little. But she didn't _know_ him! Yes, she knew of him, but that was hardly enough to safely say he wasn't some secret serial killer.

This _was_ L.A., and frankly she could never be too careful.

"You should. It's nothing big—just some friends hanging out. It'll be fun." He plucked a business card from the holder and began to write something on the back.

Hermione leaned forward, curiously peering down and watching his elegant script unfurl beneath the black ballpoint. He had to be joking, right? In what fucking world would Draco Malfoy invite her to a party _with friends._

"You should." He slid the business card across the counter and made a point of tapping it with the end of the pen before setting it back in the mug with a soft _tink._

Her lips pulled to the corner of her mouth as she eyed the business card like it might burst into flames at any given moment.

"I'll… think about it?" Why on earth it came out as a question was beyond her, but the moment that telltale uptick lifted her voice, she mentally kicked herself for looking so daft.

That sparkle in his eye returned, and though it wasn't his full-fledged grin, this little one her made her heart flutter. This smile, soft and charming, made the corners of his eyes crinkle just so. It was natural, one she would wager to guess he rarely wore, and the fact that he was sharing it with her now felt meaningful in some asinine way.

"Perfect." He picked up his bag and slipped his shades into place. Even through the dark lenses, she could feel his gaze on her skin. Lingering warmth bloomed on her cheeks, despite her best efforts, like she'd just spent the afternoon sitting on the beach. It suddenly made the air in her shop feel stifling and musty. "I'll see you later, then."

Her hand curled tighter around her coffee cup, and she turned away, busying herself with opening the box she'd started to unpack when he'd first walked into the shop, desperate to do anything other than watch him leave. "Yeah. We'll see."


	2. Chapter 2

"Fucking hell. Not again."

Hermione slapped the dash of her Camry. Not that slapping the dash had ever worked before when it started knocking, but at least she could release some of her frustration with traffic, getting lost, and aimlessly navigating the busy streets she hoped meant she made a wrong turn.

If she thought her car would look out of place in one of the sprawling driveways, she shuddered to think about how _she_ would look inside one of these houses—scratch that: _mansions._ There was truly no other word for it.

As she rolled down the street, the incessant knocking grew louder, beating at a tempo that—

Well, fuck. It certainly wasn't her car making that thumping sound.

The Laurel Canyon mansion in front of her was packed with cars that likely cost ten times what she paid—and still owed—for her beat-up Camry. Fortunately, it wasn't the sound of her engine knocking that kept up that steady thump. It was coming from inside the gates of the estate before her. There were people stationed by the gate, one with a clipboard and a sense of self-importance she could see from a mile away, the other with a twist to his lips that looked more like a sneer as he surveyed the cars queued to get inside.

She sighed as she smoothed her palm over her dash and apologized to Agatha. It may have been silly but Hermione needed all the luck and good fortune she could get to keep the heap of metal running long enough to outlive the loan. Something Luna was all too aware of, hence the _good luck_ pendants currently stuffed in her glovebox and sage smudge under her passenger seat.

Resolved to turn around and chalk this experience up to yet another reason why taking risks and doing something daft—like going to an address hastily written on the back of a business card by someone who was so _clearly_ out of her league—Hermione gripped her gear shift and was about to reverse when a loud honk startled her.

"Come along." The gate guards waved her forward and the Mercedes SUV behind her honked again.

"Alright, alright!" Hermione tossed a hand out the window, waving to the inpatient arsehole behind her. "Fucking wanker." Well, she didn't have much of a choice now, did she?

Her beige Camry, far too plain to grace the roads here without some sort of house cleaning magnet on the side, rolled to a stop just outside of the towering wrought iron gates.

"Name?"

"Erm, Hermione. Hermione Granger?" Had she given him her name? Based on the way the man with the clipboard furrowed his brow as he scanned the list with his ballpoint pen, she was beginning to assume she had not. _Well, double fuck._ "Oh! Hold on."

Scrambling to pull the business card from earlier out of her bottomless purse, she dug and dug, pulling out lip gloss and face wipes, her wallet, nail polish, linty breath mints she refused to toss—just in case—and a bottle of Advil. "Heh…sorry. Just—uh. One minute." Hermione flashed an apologetic smile, trying to ignore the way he impatiently clicked his pen.

Finally giving up on her dig and search method, she upended her purse, spilling the entire contents across her front seat.

Ah-ha! She snatched up the piece of cardstock and flipped it over. Perfect.

"Here." Holding it out to the guards, she widened her eyes and put on her best Hollywood smile. "Sorry I didn't realize there would be a guest list. A friend, very blond and very tall with—well, with a perfect smile that really isn't even natural and—Oh. I just mean this friend invited me here today. See," she tapped the card "—he gave me the address a few hours ago. His name was…" She racked her brain for the odd name for half a second. Derek? Drew? Dra— "Draco! His name was Draco!"

One guard looked at the other with an arched brow before slowly turning back towards her and taking the business card, examining the script on the back and flipping it over again to look at her shop's name. Hermione tapped the steering wheel with chipped nails and held her smile until her cheeks ached as she watched the pair communicate in some telepathic conversation.

"Do you by chance know if this _friend_ of yours put you on the list?"

"I—uh—erm—"

The static of a radio flaring to life saved her from herself.

Another car honked, and the guard with the clipboard held up an impatient finger just as the other one stepped away to answer the gravelly call on the radio. The grainy sound of a voice on the other end was too warbled for Hermione to make out, but he did turn around and look at her, long and hard, before clipping the radio back to his belt.

"Alright. Give me your license, and sign this paper."

"Of course!" Snatching her wallet from the pile on the seat, she handed it to the guard, who took a photo with his own mobile before thrusting the clipboard in her face.

Under normal circumstances, she might have actually tried to read some of the legalities that filled the page, but when the dickhead in the Mercedes honked— _yet again_ —she scribbled her name across the signature line with a flourish before exchanging the clipboard for her license.

"Parking is around the back. Follow the yellow cones, and give your keys to the parking attendant."

If Hermione thought she was out of place earlier, rolling up in her ancient car that was around to witness the Clinton impeachment, she was _certain_ she was now. Walking into the house, the heavy beat of the bass that she'd heard all the way down the street rumbled the very air in her lungs.

Scantily clad women, wearing more makeup that Hermione owned, were scattered around the room with brightly colored cocktails gripped in their perfectly polished fingers. Men of all ages and demographics hung off their every word. Yet, despite their gender differences, there was one _very_ evident correlation between the two groups.

Plastic surgery.

Nearly every person in attendance looked as if they'd had some sort of work done to maintain a perfectly Hollywood image. Nose jobs, botox, fake breasts, and perfectly aligned bright white teeth.

So _this_ is what a party that required a Non-Disclosure Agreement to enter looked like.

Someone greeted her, and she nodded, tightening her lips in a line in response. She recalled what the mystery man had called it: _nothing big—just some friends hanging out. It'll be fun._

They clearly had very different ideas of what constituted fun.

What a load of bollocks. People were packed in every alcove, sprinkled along the stairs, and wandering around in every room she could see. _No one_ had this many friends.

Had she not been forced to have human interaction when she handed her keys over to the valet, she might have considered turning around and leaving. But her disdain for awkward encounters won out over her impulse to flee.

So she wandered aimlessly through the spacious rooms, weaving in and out among bodies that looked more plastic than human on her hunt for the kitchen. If she was going to be stuck in this seventh-layer-of-Hollywood-Hell, she could at least get some free food out of the ordeal. There was _always_ food at these rich people parties, and lord only knew half of the people in attendance wouldn't dare eat it.

The more people she saw, the more the urge to flee the scene and pretend this had never happened gnawed at her. Her entire outfit likely cost less than a fraction of other people's outfits. Clad in jeans that she was told "flattered her figure" and a camisole that had felt daring before she'd laid eyes on the girls wearing more skin than clothes, Hermione tried to ignore the feeling that she didn't belong there. Her Converse trainers squeaked against the hardwood floors, polished to shine in the light and bright house, as she kept her focus on her target: food and a drink. She was fucking _parched._

Finally, after no less than six rooms, she found the kitchen.

It was crowded and woefully without food.

_Fuck._

Once again, the sneaking suspicion that she simply didn't belong in a place like this wiggled its way into the forefront of her thoughts. Surrounded by people who were clearly more focused on the quality of their clothes than their conversations—if the snippets of mundane nonsense about last season's this or that and the pool in some foreign country was anything to go by—Hermione decided she was going to leave.

But first, a drink. While there appeared to be no spread laid out for the attendees, judging by the crystal glassware clutched in everyone's hands, alcohol was something this party evidently had in spades.

She slid in around a group of women whose hands were basically telling tales with every wild gesticulation and rounded the generous kitchen island in search of a drink. Pulling open the refrigerator door, she let out a sigh. Of course, it _would_ be fucking empty. Hollywood types didn't actually _cook._ How idiotic of her to think otherwise. She shut the door with a thump and spun around just in time to see a thatch of white-blond hair and a smile she was hoping she'd imagined.

"You made it!" His words were a little slurred, and his grin was a little wider, but he was wearing the same clothes from earlier. Again, she thought of her own outfit and the measly price tags on each individual item when he took a few steps towards her. She thought for half a second that he might wrap her in a hug or some other equally out of place gesture, but he only slung an arm around her shoulders and squeezed as he steered her out of the room. "Did you have any trouble getting in? I realized too late I never got your name or number or well, much of anything."

"It was fine." All eyes were on them as Draco led her up a flight of stairs; previously loud conversations that filled the spaces dropped to whispers as they moved through the rooms. Hermione's eyes flickered across the crowd, cheeks flushing as she felt the weight of the gossip around her settle in though Draco acted as if he didn't notice. Well, that or he was used to the public scrutiny. "They let me in, so no big deal."

Draco snagged her hand and tugged her into a nearby hallway. He backed her up against the wall, and his hand landed just above her shoulder. She had to remind herself to breathe when his mere proximity made her head spin.

"Well, just to be sure this doesn't happen again, you ought to tell me your name."

Fuck, he was close.

Like _really close_.

Like, if he were any closer, she might feel his body against hers, and Lord only knew how bloody weird _that_ would be considering there were no less than twenty sets of eyes on them right now.

"I should?"

Draco shrugged, lips curling in a half-hearted attempt at suppressing his laughter. "I mean… _I_ think so."

Hermione took another deep breath. Caught in his stare, she felt like she was on the verge of swooning like some teenage girl on the street. She tore her eyes away and cleared her throat before awkwardly lifting her hand between them.

"Hermione... Granger. Hermione Granger." _Idiot._ Why she repeated her name twice, she had no idea, but she tried her best to act outwardly unaffected. What was it with this man? Her best friend was a celebrity, so that did little for her, but somehow she'd been reduced to nothing more than an awkward, bumbling buffoon in his presence.

"Granger?" He arched a perfectly shaped pale brow and let his eyes drag down her face in a lazy perusal. "I like it."

Rather than take her awkwardly outstretched hand that she'd extended with her double name drop, he reached through her open arms and touched a hand to her hip. "You look beautiful, _Hermione."_ He said her name like it was the lyric to a bloody song. That stupid urge to swoon tickled her consciousness again, and she straightened her spine, pushing off the wall and slipping away from him so his hand dropped back to his side.

"Thank you, _Draco._ " She rolled her eyes to focus on anything other than keeping her knees from wobbling. Her arms crossed over her chest, fingers gripping hard as if they were a life preserver as opposed to her own flesh. She needed to keep it together. He was nobody to her, and she was nobody to him; there was _zero_ reason for her to feel this affected. "I have to say I'm a bit cross with you."

"Oh?" He looked no less than wholly amused. "And why would that be?"

"Hrm.. I wonder. Perhaps it's because you invited me to a bloody social event. You could have at the very least given me some sort of warning. I came dressed for a 'hang-out with friends' and this"—she gestured to the party at large, raging on around them—"is obviously not that."

Draco's laugh was a sound all its own. Unlike anything she'd ever heard before, it was both robust and soothing, deep yet melodic. Had it not been for the heavy bass of whatever electronica hell-scape the DJ was playing, she might have become knock-kneed. "This _is_ how I hang out with my friends. If there aren't a hundred people to tell them how successful they are, is it even really a party?"

Hermione snorted in the inelegant way her mother would chastise her for. "Well, who needs enemies when you have friends like that, I suppose."

"You wound me." Lifting a hand to cover his heart, Draco let out a dramatic sigh as he stumbled backwards, as if impaled by her words. _Actors._

Despite herself, a small slip of laughter bubbled up her throat, and she pursed her lips, eyes drifting away from his overly handsome features so she could gain a little bit of self-control over her runaway feelings. "Yeah? Well, someone ought to keep you grounded because I am fairly certain none of these folks will."

"They're not all bad, you know." Draco closed the distance between them once again and slipped his hands into his front pockets. "There are a couple people I think you might enjoy meeting."

"Oh?" She doubted the Silver Screen starlets and wannabes were people who would actually enjoy the company of someone currently wearing $15 Target jeans, but far be it from her to tell him that.

"Yeah. They work in the industry, but they're not like… you know?"

Obnoxious. Conceited. Rude. The applicable adjectives were literally endless.

She lifted a brow and tilted her head to the side. "No. I'm afraid I don't know."

"Well, they're… normal—I guess?" Draco laughed once more, striking gray eyes practically dancing at her. "Come on. I'll introduce you."

He extended his hand towards her, palm up and fingers curled ever so slightly, beckoning her. She hesitated, chewing on the inside of her bottom lip as she weighed the implications of taking it. She still wanted to leave, and put as much distance between her and this insufferable 1% as possible.

But then again… she was still thirsty, and Draco would likely know where the drinks were.

"Okay, fine." Reaching out, she took his hand, trying to ignore the way her stomach flip flopped like a fish out of water at the simple contact. "But if your friends are as dreadful as I assume, don't be alarmed if I suddenly disappear."

"I'll refrain from sending a search party." Draco took his time, lacing his fingers between hers before he began down the long hallway toward the centre of the house she'd tried to escape from earlier. Each step brought them closer to the crowd. The ambient noise of active conversation mixed with the annoyingly loud beat that bellowed down the halls.

As they reached the threshold to the living room, he paused, surveying the crowd before him in search of god only knew who. "Oh… and for the record." His gaze moved back to her, and he leaned in, his mouth hovering inches from her ear so she could make out every single syllable. "I happen to like the way you're dressed."

Yep.

She was completely and utterly _fucked._

* * *

Okay. So, technically speaking, he wasn't wrong. He'd introduced her to _normal_ people in the sense that they were human as opposed to aliens, but that was the only way any differentiation was applicable.

Sofia Coppola and Kathryn Bigalow were the first big names to cross her path. Both pleasant and very down to earth. It was easy not to act starstruck, but then Draco did something entirely unforgivable.

He'd introduced her to Wes Anderson—Wes _Fucking_ Anderson, like she had no idea who he was. Like she hadn't seen _Rushmore_ ten thousand times. Like she hadn't memorized every bloody whistle in _The Fantastic Mr. Fox._ Like she hadn't seen Moonrise Kingdom three times in theatres!

She played it cool, didn't fumble over her words, didn't turn into a blubbering fangirl when Wes—just Wes, because apparently they were on a first name basis now—shook her hand. Halfway through Draco and the famous director's conversation about his upcoming film, Hermione quickly realised she couldn't do this anymore. It was too much, too soon, just… much too much of _everything, all at once._

So she did the only thing she could think of.

She excused herself, claiming to need to find the loo, and then Hermione fucking ran. Not literally, of course, actual running was reserved for zombie outbreaks, dinosaur chases, and cinematic movie montages, and her current situation was absolutely none of those.

Her current situation was far more pathetic than that. Hermione fled because she was too overwhelmed. The mere idea of being here, at this party, surrounded by people who made more in a single day than she did all year, on the arm of a man who was light years out of her league was simply too fucking much to handle.

She needed a moment to breath and collect her thoughts.

A moment had turned into several, and she'd somehow found herself leaning against the railing of a second floor balcony, watching the glittering cityscape bathed in the low glow of the rising moon with zero intention of returning to the chaos inside.

Out here, the heavy bass was dampened, and the chatter of conversation faded, and although she could hear the ever present honks of distant traffic from the highway, it felt almost peaceful. She couldn't help but wonder how often the homeowners took a pause on this balcony to observe the city below.

Judging by the nearly new patio chair, she'd wager to guess hardly ever. That seemed like such a waste. Skipping over a view like this should be a criminal offense.

The soft woosh of the sliding glass door opening behind her pulled Hermione from her reverie, and the obnoxious music grew louder.

"Hey. There you are."

Hermione turned her head, hands curling tightly around the cold metal railing, as she watched Draco slip outside.

A thatch of blond hair hung across his brow, oddly reminiscent of that old Hollywood heartthrob style, and Hermione had to physically repress the urge to reach out and brush it away.

"Hey," she returned, lips curling ever so slightly.

"You disappeared." He slid the door shut behind him, once again dampening the noise, and moved across the balcony. Slow, decisive steps guided him directly beside her, but he stayed a step away, not invading her space. "Everything alright?"

Hermione couldn't help the sharp laugh that escaped her lungs. It was unfair, really. Her problems were hardly his fault, and her social anxiety was absolutely nothing he could have known about, but she simply couldn't stop the negative thoughts that had invaded her brain.

Was everything alright? No. It absolutely wasn't alright. She had $150 to last her until payday, her car needed new tires yesterday, and she needed to refill her Zoloft, but simply didn't have the time to run to the pharmacy.

Now, on top of the very real problems of her day to day life, she was forced to face the crushing reality that the social elite was celebrating on a Wednesday night like there wasn't a single bloody problem in the world.

Oh, _and_ she had most definitely developed a terribly, horribly inconvenient crush on a stupidly handsome celebrity.

"Yeah, everything's fine." She knew he could sense her lie—she'd hardly made an attempt to hide it—but he didn't seem intent to call her on it, at least not right away.

They stood in silence, lingering in each other's orbit, watching the city sparkle below and listening to the distant sounds of the party mix with the atmosphere outside. Somehow, despite the dark thoughts that drew her away from him earlier, having him there right then felt… normal.

Draco wasn't a bad guy—well, _technically,_ she didn't know that, but he didn't seem bad. He was hardly like the people below, and her limited interactions with him had seemed genuine. She didn't owe him a damn thing, but she certainly felt like she ought to give him the benefit of the doubt.

She looked over at him, tongue dragging across her lips, watching the way the shadows from the glittering lights seemed to enhance his well defined features. "Why do you do it?"

He tilted his head to the side. "Do what?"

"Act."

"Because I enjoy it, I guess. I started when I was—"

"No, no. I'm sorry, I should have clarified." Hermione turned to face him, and the soft breeze tickled as her curls brushed her neck. Bracing her arm against the railing, she looked up at him. "Why do you act differently around these people? Not that I have a lot to go on, granted, but earlier you just seemed… I don't know exactly, but it was different. So I was just wondering why you were so different in there." She gave a lazy gesture towards the house, softening as she watched the light in his eyes dim just slightly.

"I don't know how to answer that, truthfully." A tinny laugh filled the space between them, and he scratched at the back of his neck as he mirrored her movement, turning to face her. "I wasn't aware I acted any different."

"Well, you do."

"What do you mean? How?"

Hermione drummed her fingers on the railing, tongue pressing against the inside of her teeth as she weighed exactly how honest she should be. He was a nice guy. Charming, handsome, and clearly didn't mind her lower caste in this Hollywood society, but she doubted he would appreciate having his perceived flaws pointed out.

He was only human, as was she, and she knew hearing her own faults was never easy.

"You know what, just forget I said anything." Hermione shifted her weight between the balls of her feet, forcing a smile. "I was just giving you the mickey."

"Hrmmm. I don't believe that." Draco's hand inched towards her, the tips of his fingers brushing across hers. "Just tell me. I'm a big boy. I can take it."

Well… he asked for it, right?

"In the shop you didn't seem to care about… status. I had no idea you were… well, you know? Famous. And here it's different. You're introducing me to people you called normal, but… Draco, _come on._ They're the Hollywood elite. I'm pretty sure they lost sight of normal a couple million dollars ago. And… this party? Christ. It's just _a lot_. I don't think I've ever been to a bloody party with a DJ that wasn't a wedding or my prom. Don't get me wrong, you're still nice. And well… I'm still here, aren't I? But around those people you just seem so… so… _fake."_

She regretted her choice of adjective as soon as it slipped off her tongue, but it was too late to take it back. Not when he wouldn't meet her eyes, and a pink blush tinted his cheeks.

"Oh… okay." He blinked out at the cityscape, but she could practically see the gears in his mind work, trying to process what she had just said.

Hermione nodded, eyes drifting down to the toes of her shoes, and she hummed in thought, rubbing her lips together. Well, _this_ was sufficiently awkward. She really should go now. Drink be damned, she probably ruined any chance at _something_ between them.

"I have a confession."

Oh lord. This was not a good start. Hermione wasn't a bloody priest—she was just about the exact opposite considering the type of store she managed! Her eyes widened, hardly concealing the immediate dread that settled in the very center of her chest like a kettlebell.

"I might have been trying to impress you."

That was...

Well, that was _not_ what she was expecting. Not that she was expecting him to confess murder or something, but didn't these Hollywood types have other juicy secrets? A small laugh bubbled up her throat, filling the air around them, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, pressing her fingers into the skin above her lip as she fought to contain the slip of laughter.

"Okay, now you _really_ do wound me, Hermione." Draco's perfectly straight teeth sank into his bottom lip, and that charming grin fell back into place. Despite her best efforts, her laughter only grew.

This was unbelievable. _He_ had been trying to impress _her?_ She licked Cheeto dust off her fingers. She wasn't certain she owned a pair of socks without holes. She drank day-old coffee! She wasn't in need of impressing. He had a budding career and likely drove a car from this decade. If anything, _she_ should be trying to impress _him._

"S-sorry." Wiping her thumb under her eyes, she collected the light drip of salty tears that had appeared. "I hardly think you have any reason to try and impress me."

Draco shrugged, his boyish grin still perfectly in place. "Did it work?"

Kind of. Perhaps just a _little_ , but not for the reasons he probably wanted. "I'm not _un_ impressed."

"I'll take that as a win then."

"As you should."

It was in that moment, following what felt like a real breakthrough in seeing the man beneath the myth, that her phone let out a sharp trill. Hermione jumped, startled by the distinctive ringtone her roommate insisted she use, and she smiled sheepishly as she fished her mobile from her back pocket.

**Luna: Should I be alarmed? xx**

The innocuous text was followed by a photo of her kitchen, or rather, what appeared to be her kitchen under a giant mountain of foamy bubbles.

"Fuck." Hermione put a hand to her forehead, instantly regretting asking Luna to start the dishwasher when she'd left the house earlier. "I… uh… I have to go."

**Hermione: I'll be right there. Turn it off.**

**Luna: The bubbles? I can't. xx**

**Hermione: The dishwasher!**

**Luna: Oh! Ok! C ya soon! xx**

"Everything alright?" He'd moved closer, trying to be discreet as he peered down at her mobile's screen.

"Yeah. Just my roommate." Hermione slipped her phone back in her pocket. "I need to go home and help take care of something."

"Right, of course." He nodded, pushing off the railing. "Can I walk you to your car?"

Hermione shook her head, wrinkling her nose at the idea of this old chivalrous act that was far from necessary in the safety of a gated _and guarded_ mansion in Laurel Canyon. "No, it's fine. Go enjoy your friends." She flashed him a smile as she began to walk backwards towards the sliding door. "And thanks for inviting me. I had fun."

"Can I see you again?" The question was asked so quickly she nearly missed it. Even from the growing distance, she could see a hint of hope lingering in his eyes. It was probably not advisable. He was a celebrity, and she was…well, she was no one.

"Depends…" There was something different about him, something that called to her to find out more, to figure out what made him tick. Shuffling backwards, she gripped the cold metal handle of the glass door. "Which one of you am I going to see?"

"The better one?" Draco scratched the back of his neck again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I'm staying at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills under Tom Riddle—"

"Fake name?" She cocked her head to the side playfully before clicking her tongue. "Not off to a great start, Draco."

"Give me a chance." It wasn't worded as a plea. No, it was a challenge, like he was daring her to dive into the deep end and God help her, she wanted to.

Even without her utter inability to turn down a challenge, she felt compelled to find out more about the _real_ Draco Malfoy, the one whose life was more than glitz and glamour. Hermione pulled the slider open, the loud music blasting out into the open air, and she stepped inside the house, lingering on the threshold for half a second.

"We'll see." It was all she could offer him tonight, and if Draco were the man she hoped he was, her answer should be more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look. we make no apologies for our lateness. it's just kinda how we roll. #yolo!
> 
> find us on facebook here & here.
> 
> we help run a cool little facebook group called Restricted Section: Multi + Triads Only (18+)  if you're into that sort of thing. come check it out.
> 
> beta credit to one badass witch, bionically. all remaining mistakes are our own.
> 
> until next time. xx

**Author's Note:**

> we tried to pay homage to the classic late 90's romantic comedy goodness (and Hugh Grant's epic floppy hair), but also keep the story fresh and exciting, so buckle up for this retelling of **Notting Hill**. 
> 
> beta credit to the ever fabulous [bionically](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bionically/pseuds/bionically). if you have not read her work, do yourselves a favor and read.
> 
> posting schedule will be _about_ every two weeks—give or take. 
> 
> come find us in [Restricted Section: Multi + Triads Only (18+) ](https://www.facebook.com/groups/restricted.section.fanfic/?ref=share) where we admin. 
> 
> see ya in a fortnight! ~ K & m


End file.
